When I'm Gone
by AJ Wesley
Summary: Doc Benton may be gone, but the effects still linger...


_Author's note: I know it's been a while since I've posted. Thanks for sticking around! I've got two longer fics coming soon, but here's a tag I hope you enjoy! This story first appeared in the fanzine Hunting Trips 4._

**When I'm Gone**

**Coda to "Time Is On My Side"**

**_For Fiona_  
**

Dean had the honor of throwing the last shovelful of dirt onto Doc Benton's grave. The son of a bitch wouldn't be hurting anyone again. More importantly, he couldn't hurt Sam again.

Huffing a sigh, Dean lifted his shovel and propped it against his shoulder, masking his fear with exhaustion. This had been close. Way too close. He cast a sidelong glance at his brother and saw Sam press the heel of one hand into the brow over his left eye. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Wow, that was convincing."

Sam dropped his hand and opened his eyes, glaring at Dean from under drooping lids. His eye was turning a spectacular red, and sweat glistened on his face. "I just have a headache, is all," he said.

Dean hadn't seen what the doc had done to Sam, but he'd seen the aftermath, put the pieces together. The adrenaline surge was crashing and taking Sam down with it. Dean grabbed his arm and tugged him away from the mound of dirt, unsure whether he was truly still hearing the doctor's cries or whether it was just his imagination. Whatever. He just wanted to get Sammy away from there.

After a shaky start, Sam managed to find his equilibrium and made it to the car on his own. Dean kept an eye on him while opening the trunk, and motioned for Sam to toss him the shovel. He caught it, then stowed them both and slammed the lid closed. By the time he reached the driver's side, Sam was already slumped in the passenger seat. Dean slid behind the wheel and silently assessed his brother.

Sam's head turned his way. His shoulders fell, and the breath sighed out of him. He looked relieved, like he finally felt safe. "I'm okay, Dean," he insisted softly.

Dean reached out a hand to clasp the back of Sam's neck and give it a squeeze, feeling the tension in the muscles. Yeah, they needed to get the hell out of there.

Fifteen minutes into the drive, Sam was asleep.

Dean listened to the gentle snores and tried to calm his racing heart. His rush was nowhere near an end. Sammy had let his guard down. Again.

Okay, so he'd ganked the crocotta on his own and escaped with only a concussion and raw, bleeding wrists—minor injuries as far as Winchesters were concerned. But a little over a month ago, he'd nearly been skewered by a former janitor. And maybe Doctor Frankenstein wouldn't have killed him, but he would have—

Dean swallowed, the thought churning his stomach. Sam had been so focused on saving Dean, so sure Benton was the answer, he'd been blind to his own safety. And it was only going to get worse.

Dean cast a glance at his sleeping sibling, then focused back on the road. Sam seemed to attract trouble. Bad guys came out of the woodwork for him, some wanting him dead, some wanting him to lead them. Bad news either way.

This deal…it so wasn't what he'd thought.

Dean gave a bitter laugh. That was the problem, wasn't it? He hadn't thought. He'd been so overcome with grief, he hadn't considered the repercussions. Hadn't thought about what it would do to Sam. That he would be leaving Sam to face it all alone.

Acid burned its way up his throat. Who would watch out for Sam when Dean was gone?

He was so ready to get the hell out of there, but there was still the matter of Bela to attend to. And Dean had a plan. He'd passed the place on the way to Benton's cabin; now, with the relative quiet in the car, he distracted himself from his worries by working out the details. By the time he pulled into the parking lot, he had it all figured out. He just needed some supplies.

Dean left a sleeping Sam in the locked car and ran inside the store to get what he needed. He was back in just over five minutes. Sam hadn't moved.

Dean drove to the motel and parked around back, out of view of the front door.

Sam inhaled deeply, then sighed, this time his subconscious registering that the car was no longer moving. Wincing, his lifted a hand to his head. "Where are we?"

"Motel," Dean told him. "Go back to sleep, Sam. I'll just be a minute."

Hand dropping into his lap, Sam squinted at the bag in Dean's hand. "'Adult Superstore'?" His gaze slid up to Dean. "You're kidding, right?"

"Don't be such a prude, Sammy," Dean teased.

"I'm not—" Sam cut off the retort and rubbed his forehead.

Dean twisted in the seat toward his brother. "Head still bothering you?" he asked, concern taking over.

"Yeah. Chloroform."

Damn. He should have realized. The drug had nasty aftereffects. "Just take it easy. I'll be right back. And don't hurl in my car."

"Okay," Sam said, strained, his eyes closing.

Dean got out of the car, locking his door as he stood. Overprotective? Maybe. But as long as he was still around, he had a job to do.

It took him about half an hour to get everything set up. Most of that time was spent blowing up the friggin' dolls, and Dean had ended up lightheaded, little white spots dancing before his eyes.

He grabbed their bags and headed back to the car, his anxiety over leaving Sam eating away at his insides. He'd had a lot of time to think, but he wasn't sure he had a solution. What if—?

The passenger door stood open; Dean could tell even by approaching from the driver's side. He didn't see Sam. _No..._

Dean sprinted to the car as fast as his legs would carry him. He rounded to the passenger side and skidded to a halt, seeing the brown suede boots, the jean-clad legs beneath the door. He strode forward and found his brother on the edge of the seat, bent in half, one hand around his middle, the other at his head.

Sam looked up at him through watery eyes. "You said not to hurl in your car." He shrugged sheepishly.

That's when Dean noticed the puddle. He closed his eyes, his nerves frazzled. Another tempting of fate, alone and unarmed. For Dean. Sam had put himself at risk so he wouldn't throw up in Dean's precious car. Damn it. Maybe Sam would be better off without him.

Dean stopped that thought immediately. It wasn't true. Sam wasn't careless. He just…got a little distracted while immersed in trying to help his brother. Dean understood that. He knew exactly how it felt to love someone so much, you would do anything for them. Anything. Including selling your soul.

Dean sighed and, avoiding the mess, crouched in front of Sam. He set the bags aside and lifted Sam's head with a hand under his chin.

Sam helped, raising his head and sitting patiently through Dean's examination. Dean palmed back the sweat-damp hair that had fallen into his face so he could check Sam's eyes. Eyes Sam had come close to losing.

_ Don't go there, Dean. _"Feel any better?" he asked instead.

A small nod. "Yeah, actually. Head still hurts, but not as bad."

Dean shifted a little to reach his bag. He dug out a bottle of painkillers, shook out two, and handed them to Sam. "Here." He stood, using Sam's shoulder for support, then gave it a pat. "Party's set. Soon as the guest of honor arrives, we're out of here. Just sit tight."

Sam gave him a wary look as he popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry. "What are you up to?"

Dean shrugged casually. "Just figured Bela was going to get down and dirty, so…" He grinned, letting Sam imagine what he would.

"Dean…"

"Sammy, you are just no fun."

Sam laughed softly, shaking his head. "Not now, I have a headache." He pulled his long legs back inside the car and settled in to wait.

**~oooOOOooo~**

Dean sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands steepled, fingers lightly tapping his lips. He'd been thinking long and hard about this, still wasn't sure what the answer was, but…

He glanced up when the bathroom door opened and Sam stepped out, dressed in t-shirt and sweats, wet hair combed back. His eyes narrowed when he saw Dean, obviously concerned his brother hadn't moved since he'd been in the shower.

"Hey," Sam said, crossing the room. "Y'all right?" He sat beside Dean, cautious, uncertain.

"I was just thinking."

"'Bout what?" Sam's voice was soft, tinged with unease.

Dean let his hands fall so they hung between his knees. "That New York is really nice in the summer. 'Specially upstate. Gorgeous view…"

A short confused laugh. "You want to go to New York in the—"

Dean watched his brother's expression change, the smile falling away as he put the pieces together and thought about the future where Dean would be gone and Sam would be alone. His eyes misted over. "What are you saying?" he asked when he could finally speak.

"I'm just sayin' that, you know, maybe you should go there. See how Sarah's doing…"

Sam stared at him, eyes narrowing as he dissected Dean's words and discovered their true meaning. "You want me to quit." It wasn't a question.

Dean looked away, unable to handle to hurt in his brother's eyes. "Maybe you should."

There was a short, bitter laugh as Sam stood and paced to the other side of the room. Dean chanced a glance, saw his brother run both hands through his hair, but he looked down again when Sam turned back.

"How can you say that? With everything that's going on out there, how can you ask me to just walk away?"

"You've done it before." Okay, that was pretty low. But it was the truth.

A moment of regret clouded Sam's eyes. "I was a kid, Dean. I thought I knew what I wanted. I've done a lot of growing up since then. A lot of thinking. I can't go back to that life now. I can't."

And Dean was reminded once again that his little brother was a man. "Sammy…" He paused, letting his defenses down. Sam had never responded well to orders, but feelings, things Dean didn't always know how to express? Those his brother understood. "This deal. It sucks. And I'm sorry. I really am. But I gotta know it wasn't all for nothing. I gotta know that when I'm gone, you're gonna watch your back, remember everything Dad and I taught you. I need to know you're gonna be okay, Sam."

"I won't be okay, Dean. I'll never be. Not with you in—" His voice caught; he couldn't even say it. Sam swallowed, took a breath. "But I'll live. If for nothing else than to bring you back."

That was probably the best he was going to get from Sam. Dean's lips quirked into a sad smile that didn't reach his eyes. His chest tightened, making it hard to breathe. There was something very humbling in the fact that Sam refused to give up. And even though Sam would say otherwise, Dean hadn't thrown in the towel. He'd just accepted his fate. There was a difference.

He wouldn't have lived long without Sam. He knew that. And he always figured he was going to Hell in a handbasket anyway, so…

Sam was everything to him: his brother, his partner, his best friend. This last year they'd spent together had been worth the price.

"Besides," Sam said, drawing himself up to his full height, "we still have time to beat this thing—"

"Sam—"

"Don't. Please. Just…don't. I need that hope, Dean. It's all I've got left. _Please_."

Dean nodded, his eyes blurring. He had little hope left. But he wouldn't deny Sam his. He couldn't. The clash of emotions inside him was too overwhelming. Dean shut them down, sniffed, then pushed to his feet. "Okay," he agreed. "But can we please not do this 'damsel in distress' thing anymore? 'Cause, honestly, Sam? You're not my type."

It took Sam a split-second to comprehend, then he closed his eyes and breathed a small laugh. "You're such an ass…"

Dean grinned. "'Least I'm not a trouble magnet."

"Yeah, right."

"More like a chick magnet."

"Dean…"

It wasn't much, but it something. Even the smallest of smiles from Sam these days was like a reward. And Dean knew his brother understood—thank God—that this was his way of coping, and he couldn't ask for anything more.


End file.
